


(two time!)

by LittleDragonPrince



Series: love is a tower where all of us can live [5]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:50:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDragonPrince/pseuds/LittleDragonPrince
Summary: "You're thinking too much about whatyouwant," Greed said, barely managing to stifle a sigh; the book lay forgotten in their folded-up lap, "You want Lust to stop being mad at you. That's not going to happen if you don't consider whathewants."Pride crossed his arms in an attempt to hide his hurt feelings - he had thought this was a good plan, but the look on Greed's face said otherwise - and huffed, "All Lust wants is for me to like him, though."From her place in bed, Wrath groaned, a low and deeply frustrated sound, and pulled the blankets up to cover her ears as if to block Pride out entirely, "Make him stop. Every word out of his mouth makes me want to throw him down the stairs."xxxwith a little help from his friends, prides plan to make things up to lust goes surprisingly well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is two VERY SHORT CHAPTERS instead of one Still Pretty Fuckin Short Chapter bc i wrote a lot that i wanted people to see...but then got too tired to finish up the final scene but i still wanted ppl to get to read it, so! enjoy the first two scenes of this fic, that are basically just all set up and conversation! the last three scenes are more like... interesting! i promise! we're doing it this way since this is a fic really Only For A Select Seven People.. so im allowed to do bullshit like this.. ANYHOW:
> 
> another SDS fic for gay teen zone !! this took surprisingly long because i forgot how to read halfway thru it sorry yall.
> 
> this is a direct continuation of "whose heart could i break today?" hence the title !! thats the next lyric in the jack stauber song i took the title(s) from.

The third time in a row Lust refused an invitation to the team’s weekly pool game, Pride realized there might be a problem. The last time he had attempted to confront Lust about a problem, however, it had ended  _ disastrously _ , and things with Envy were  _ finally _ on the mend, so he was admittedly reluctant to bring the issue up to Lust.

Bringing it up to any and everyone else, though, he was more than glad to do.

“I just don’t understand how everything got so twisted up,” he sighed as he hopped up onto the side of the pool table - he’d long since given up on taking his own shots, passing the cue off to Gluttony, who was patiently waiting for Envy to finish xer turn, “We used to get along so well, y’know! What happened?”

“Maybe it has something to do with you telling him you couldn’t wait to forget him,” said Sloth, and while their tone was neutral, the words were decidedly not so. Pride frowned at them, but their only response was a familiar and lazy shrug.

“I never said that!” Pride insisted, which was - to his credit - technically true, those hadn’t been the words he’d used at all, “And I definitely never meant it, I just wanted to-,”

Sloth cut him off again, a sharper note to their voice, “Make him cry, right?” The glare Pride shot them in reply was darker than before as a more sincere breed of anger stirred to life inside of him. To their credit, they didn’t even flinch. “You complained about this the last time we were here, too, and you definitely mentioned that being your main motivation.”

Pride chose not to dignify Sloth with a reply, at least not a verbal one. Instead he huffed a breath through his nose and watched the six-ball narrowly miss the pocket after a clumsy shot from Envy. As xe cursed under xer breath, Pride let his eyes slide shut and tipped back until he was sprawled out on the top of the pooltable, one arm thrown forlornly over his face to block out the cheap and flickering lights high above. “Gluttony,” Pride said, putting as much misery into the single word as he could, “Gluttony, what should I  _ do _ ?”

A beat passed as Pride waited for a response in near silence, though he could hear shuffling on all sides of him, the rustle of every patron in the diner. Instead of the half-assed, apathetic advice he expected (or the coddling sympathy he hoped for), however, the only sound to truly break the quiet was a loud  _ crack _ , and then-,

“Ow!” yelped Pride, sitting up ramrod straight as a sharp pain struck him behind his right ear, “Did you -  _ God, fuck _ \- did you just hit a pool ball into my fuckin’ neck?”

Gluttony still said nothing, just held his cue stick in both hands and tilted his head curiously at Pride - the answer was obvious, after all, so there was no need for him to speak. Envy, meanwhile, was laughing hysterically, one hand clutching xer stomach and the other slapped over Sloth’s shoulder for support and, damn it, even  _ Sloth _ was snickering into their mask.

“Real funny, big guy,” Pride sneered in Gluttony’s direction; to Envy he said, arms crossed sternly over his chest, “What about you? Are you gonna try to be useful at least?”

It took another twenty or so seconds for Envy to calm down enough to answer, but once xe had straightened up - with an over-the-top intake of breath, just to make a point of how  _ funny _ xe had found Pride’s pain - xe spoke confidently, a wide smile still splitting xer face, “Just do what you did for me!” xe said.

“I…” Pride opened his mouth to shoot the idea down, but quickly deflated, “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything for you.”

It was Sloth’s turn to break into hysterics, though they were notably more restrained with their laughter than Envy - who was now rolling xer eyes - had been. “Like, less than a month ago, dude,” xe said, “You gave me some Skittles, remember?”

Pride perked up at the reminder -  _ oh right, _ he thought, smiling to himself,  _ I’m so glad that turned out okay _ \- and was just about to say as such when Gluttony interrupted, voice filled with clear disbelief, “Wait a minute, you mean to tell me the way Pride apologized for almost blowing you up was  _ Skittles?” _

“Of course!” said Pride cheerfully, at almost the exact same time Envy said, “You tried to blow me up?”

There wasn’t much on this earth that could fluster Pride, but the scrunched up, bewildered look on Envy’s face had him feeling like his face had caught fire. He’d forgotten that he had never mentioned that detail to Envy explicitly - Hell, he barely remembered it happening himself - but clearly that was a mistake. Clearly this was something Envy had needed to  _ know _ , because now xe was peering at Pride with narrowed eyes and a slack-jawed expression that he desperately wanted to wipe away. The only sound that came out of his mouth was a very small, ineloquent, “Uhh,” and then, after a humiliatingly long pause that felt as if it lasted hours but was likely only a few seconds, he smiled mawkishly, cheeks still burning, and asked, “How about we order another round of drinks? I’ll foot the bill this time, promise!”

**xxx**

Despite how much Pride valued his own charisma, how hard he worked to maintain his social skills, even he had to admit that he was always saying shit he didn’t mean. Affection and praise, while fun, were intangible things; somebody saying  _ i love you _ only proved they knew how to pronounce those words, and while that didn’t make them any less enjoyable to hear (or to say), Pride knew that deception was a skill nearly everyone in his line of work had to learn. People’s feelings were always changing, and could always be hidden, so he had gotten very good at figuring out lies. Or at least he’d gotten good at anticipating them - if anything someone said could be false, it was safer to assume  _ everything  _ they said was. Talk was cheap, after all.

Presents, on the other hand, could be  _ very _ expensive. Being willing to waste money or resources on giving something - something tangible, physical,  _ real _ \- to another human being was the most obvious sign of affection Pride could think of. Best of all, a gift would last even after a relationship had ended, couldn’t lose its meaning or its usefulness where a person might.

Which was why Pride decided to take Envy’s advice and buy Lust a gift by way of a spoken apology.

He shoved open the door to Greed and Wrath’s shared room without knocking, wide smile already plastered to his face. “Guess what I did!” he exclaimed, as the door swung hard and rattled against the opposite wall.

The sudden intrusion clearly startled Greed, who was sat up straight in the bed reading some book Pride couldn’t see the cover of; they jerked upright, back pressing flush against the headboard and knees drawing closer to their chest. Wrath, on the other hand, had known Pride for far longer and was far more used to his disregard for privacy. The only acknowledgement he received from her was some unintelligible grumbling as she rolled over to put her back to him and the door.

“Pride!” said Greed, voice wavering in a way that made it clear they were  _ trying  _ not to seem annoyed by his presence. Their hair was still visibly damp from a shower, and the red flannel shirt they were wearing as pajamas was unbuttoned to reveal a plain black tank-top. “Wh - uh - what are you doing still up? It’s,” they glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table, “Two in the morning.”

“I don’t see how the time is relevant,” Pride said, still grinning brightly despite Greed’s owlish stare, “Besides, you’re still awake, too!”

“I couldn’t settle down, so I figured I’d get some late night reading in,” they said, and then deflated with a noisy exhale, legs unfurling and shoulders weighed down, “Which, I guess, isn’t gonna happen. I’m sorry,” they scrubbed tiredly at one eye; Pride couldn’t help but feel the apology was aimed more towards Wrath than towards him, “You wanted to tell me something?”

“No, I wanted to  _ show _ you something,” Pride could barely contain his excitement as he fished the jewelry box out of the pocket of his sweater, which he was wearing purely for the sake of this dramatic reveal, “Look at this!” He popped the lid of the small, velvet box open, revealing what he’d been so eager to show off - a simple, gold-chain necklace with a rose-shaped pendant, adorned with a single pink gemstone in between the miniature flower’s petals.

“Oh,” said Greed with a surprised blink, “That’s - wow, it’s lovely, Pride. What kind of gem is that?”

“Sapphire!” he said, feeling a rush of satisfaction at Greed’s approval. He’d splurged to get this necklace as a gift for Lust, figured it was expensive enough to be meaningful but simple enough to seem sincere. Knowing someone else found it just as pretty as Pride did was more comforting than he was likely to admit.

“Well, it’s.” Greed began to say with a gentle smile, but their expression shifted suddenly, brow furrowed, “I mean, it’s nice, but - why are you showing me this exactly? You’ve never felt the need to show me stuff you’d bought before.”

“‘Cause this time, I wasn’t buying for  _ me _ ,” said Pride, as he shut the box with a loud  _ smack _ , “This is for Lust, and you’re the one on the team who knows the most about jewelry! So naturally I wanted to ask you if you thought it was nice, and you do, so now I  _ know _ Lust’ll be happy with it!”

With that, Pride turned to leave - he got what he wanted from Greed, there was no point in intruding any longer - but was stopped by Greed calling out. “Lust will be h- wait, Pride-,”

“ _ No,” _ it was the first coherent word Pride had heard from Wrath since he’d arrived in their bedroom; she sounded  _ miserable, _ dragging the one syllable out like the moaning of a ghost, “Greed, why would you  _ stop _ him from leaving, we were almost free.”

“Wait,” Greed repeated, seeming far less confident in their words than before, face pinched with uncertainty. They had certainly succeeded in stopping Pride in his tracks, however, if that had been their goal. He pocketed the necklace against, suddenly feeling very on edge - all he’d wanted was some reassurance, this was the  _ opposite _ of that. “If this is your plan for making up to Lust for hurting him… I, I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Well, why not?” Pride said, “You just agreed with me that it’s a nice necklace! Anyone would love to get this as a present!”

" _ You _ would love to get it as a present,” was all Greed said in response, with a meaningful tilt of their head, as if Pride was missing something obvious. A pit of anxiety opened deep in his gut.

“...What’s your point?”

“You're thinking too much about what  _ you  _ want," Greed said, barely managing to stifle a sigh; the book lay forgotten in their folded-up lap, " _ You _ want Lust to stop being mad at you. That's not going to happen if you don't consider what  _ he  _ wants."

Pride crossed his arms in an attempt to hide his hurt feelings - he had thought this was a good plan, but the look on Greed's face said otherwise - and huffed, "All Lust wants is for me to like him, though."

“ _ Please,”  _ Wrath groaned from her place in bed, a low and deeply frustrated sound, pulling the blankets up to cover her ears as if to block Pride out entirely, "Make him stop. Every word out of his mouth makes me want to throw him down the stairs."

“There’s no need to be fucking rude!” Pride snapped before he could think better of it; the glare he received from  _ Greed, _ of all people, made him flinch backwards, arms still held defensively over his chest. When he next spoke, he tried to keep his voice from wavering, “Fine.  _ Fine. _ If this is such a stupid, shitty idea, what do you suggest I get him instead?”

Slowly but surely, the icy expression on Greed’s face melted into one of contemplation, their hands fiddling idly with the pages of the novel still laid out in their lap. “Get him something… that proves you listen to him,” as they answered him, Wrath turned over under the sheets. While Pride couldn’t see her face from where he stood, he could imagine her scowling at him, “Something that you know he - him, specifically, as a person - likes, not something generic. It’ll mean more that way.”

It was advice Pride genuinely hadn’t expected to get. Even when he was a child he had never considered being  _ picky _ about the things he was given - that somebody had chosen to spend money on him at all was a pleasant enough surprise - and he’d carried this attitude with him into adulthood. Sure, there were gifts he  _ preferred _ over others, with some only being good because of the sentiment behind them, but this necklace was something he would have  _ adored _ receiving.  Why wasn’t that good enough for Lust?

For a long and silent moment, Pride didn’t reply, just stood and thought through his options. The truth was, he hadn’t the slightest idea what Lust might want. “...What. What would you get him?”

Greed rolled their eyes. “The point is that the gift comes from you, cupcake, I’m not telling you what to buy.”

“But-,”

Without a word, Wrath lurched forward, sitting up so suddenly Greed flinched slightly next to her. The look being shot Pride’s way was absolutely venomous, eyes dark and framed by her mess of lavender hair. She didn’t need to say anything for Pride to get the message - he had long since worn out his welcome in this room.

“Okay,” he said, taking a step backwards towards the still-wide-open door, “But I’m keeping the necklace for myself. Shit’s  _ pricey. _ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Notes, About The Rothko Painting I Mentioned In Fic:
> 
> the specific piece im referencing is "[Lavender and Mulberry](https://www.wikiart.org/en/mark-rothko/lavender-and-mulberry)", which was painted in 1959, and is currently owned by the hirshhorn museum in washington dc. i dont know if lavender and mulberry was actually apart of a series! i only know. from some VERY ENTRY LEVEL RESEARCH, that rothko did three different series of paintings during the years of 1958 and 1959 .. but i don't know if this piece was involved in that, or if that was even true.
> 
> also at one point in the fic pride refers to rothko's work as "abstract impressionism" which it ... obviously isn't, its expressionism, but pride doesnt know that. and while i just used the word "obviously" to describe the difference, the truth is without google i wouldn't know that either!
> 
> shoutout to buck for helping my dumb ass figure enough out about rothko to write this fic with any degree of confidence

Getting a new, better gift for Lust took a little bit longer than Pride anticipated. Initially, he had wanted to give the necklace to Lust on Friday, as he invited him to the weekly pool game, but that - obviously - hadn’t worked out. He spent the weekend thinking up a new present idea, the next three days doing research into how to _get_ the new gift itself, and then wasted his _entire_ Thursday actually _going_ to get the stupid thing. Fortunately, that meant his original idea to give the gift to Lust on a Friday was still viable. The serendipity of the timing made Pride feel optimistic, like there was no way this could go wrong.

He cornered Lust in the warehouse’s living room that afternoon, when nobody else was around, arms spread as wide as the grin on his face. The new gift was too large to carry, at least comfortably, so Pride had left it in his room with the intent of leading Lust to it - the surprise was half the joy of a gift, after all.

“Lust, honey!” Pride hollered as he strolled in, barely managing to stifle his frustration as Lust flinched backwards. He never used to flinch away from Pride like that. “Just who I wanted to see, how are you?”

“Uh, I’m, uh. Good,” Lust stammered out eventually, though the way he pulled his knees up slightly to shield himself said otherwise, “I’m… What do you need me for?”

Despite his best efforts, Pride couldn’t hide his eye roll at the defensiveness in Lust’s tone. “It’s not what I need, it’s what you need! Want. _Deserve_.” The wary look on Lust’s face didn’t disappear; Pride rolled his eyes again, “Will you just follow me?

“Wh - we’re going somewhere?” Lust still didn’t stand, just tilted his head in curiosity at Pride, but at least he looked less afraid of him now, “What’s going on?”

“If you just _come with me_ you’ll get it! Holy shit!” snapped Pride - there wasn’t much venom in it, but Lust still winced backwards like he’d been scalded. The pit in Pride’s chest grew larger, and with a bitter smile he said, “And you people call _me_ the stupid one. It’s a good surprise, promise.”

There was a beat where neither said a word, before Lust huffed out a sigh through his nose and stood. “O...okay,” he said, sounding entirely unconvinced. His hesitation didn’t deter Pride at all; he grabbed Lust by the arm and pulled him out of the living room and down the connecting hall. “What - where are we going?”

“My bedroom, of course,” Pride replied, pitching his voice as low as he could with a smirk cast over his shoulder. The immediate flush that rose to Lust’s face was exactly what Pride wanted, and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing with delight as he turned back around and swung the door to his room open.

It was only once they had both stepped fully into the room did Pride release Lust’s arm, using both hands to gesture grandly towards his present. “Ta-dah!” he borderline yelled, too excited to bother even _trying_ to keep his voice down. The stunned look on Lust’s face only fueled his enthusiasm, jaw dropped and eyes wide with disbelief.

Propped against the wall opposite of the door was a painting. The canvas was taller than it was wide, painted lavender, dark purple, and dark blue in three distinct sections. The pale purple color took up most of the canvas, bordered asymmetrically by a section of mulberry pink and placed above a narrow rectangle of navy. It was undeniably nice to look at - the colors were pretty, and worked well together, and the composition was tidy without being dull - but Pride would be lying if he said he understood the significance of it, why it warranted a spot in a museum in the first place.

“Holy...shit,” Lust said in a hushed tone, the awestruck look still in place on his face. He took a few small steps into the room towards where the painting sat, one shaking hand reaching out into the space between him and the piece of art, as if he were both afraid and desperate to touch it, “Is this… an _actual_ , genuine Rothko? Like, _the_ Mark Rothko painted this - this canvas _right here_ in front of me? This is real?”

“Yep!” said Pride with a vibrant rush of satisfaction, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I remember you mentionin’ how much you liked his art, so I did some reading, and I found an exhibit of his stuff at some museum, like… two hours outside of Clearwater, and I _happen_ to have some contacts there, so,” as Pride spoke, Lust made his way across the room, had picked the painting up in both hands to admire it more closely, “I made a few calls! Cased the joint a bit! And now it’s all yours!”

“This is… unbelievable, this is…” Lust trailed off; Pride couldn’t see his face, but from his tone of voice, Pride could imagine the reverential smile, the wide eyes. The idea made something in Pride’s chest flutter and twist.

“D’ya like it?” asked Pride cloyingly, rocking forward to hover right behind Lust’s shoulder. He expected an immediate reply - an uproarious _yes yes of course, thank you so much pride you’re such a great friend_ \- and was already rehearsing his response in his head: his faked humility, his coy smile, his timid yet sincere invitation to the Saturday pool game.

Instead, he was answered by silence. When Lust next spoke, the tone of his voice had shifted dramatically, no longer ecstatic and overwhelmed but instead hollowed out and shaken. “This… this painting is a part… of a series,” he said, and Pride felt his stomach drop, “Were there other paintings in the room with this one?”

“I mean… yes?” Pride responded honestly, because he wasn’t sure what Lust _wanted_ him to say. Lust’s shoulders tensed visibly, and he began to let out a high-pitched keen of anxiety that made Pride’s own heartbeat accelerate, “I-I mean, it was a fucking _museum,_ Lust, of course there were other pieces of art around it! Why are you acting so weird about this, it’s a nice gift!”

“Oh my fucking-,” it was with these words that Lust turned around to face Pride, painting still clutched in his hands. The glare he was sending Pride’s way was more disbelieving than enraged, but his words remained accusatory, “This was never meant to be seen outside of the context of the series it was painted in! Without the other paintings surrounding it, it means - nothing! You walked into a whole room of Rothko paintings and you just - you just grabbed a _random one_ off of the wall?”

“This one was pretty!” Pride could feel himself beginning to panic, because damn it, _no_ , this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Lust clearly felt similarly, eyes screwed shut and face pinched into a frown. “What do you want me to do, huh?” snapped Pride, “If - if this isn’t _good_ enough for you, what do you want?”

“You need to return it.”

“ _What?_ ” Pride practically shrieked, and now Lust _did_ look angry, head tilted at Pride as if _he_ were the one being irrational, “You want me to return the priceless painting I fucking _stole_? I would go to jail!”

“Then -,” it was here Lust faltered, eyes flickering back down to the painting in his arms; his gaze softened, though his words were still harsh, “Go back and steal the rest of the series in that room.”

The suggestion left Pride literally speechless, and for a moment the two merely stared at one another in bewildered silence. After a few seconds, Pride found his voice and grit his teeth as he responded: “No!” Lust opened his mouth to refute him, but Pride cut him off, determined not to be interrupted, “No, that’s a batshit idea! God, why can’t - why won’t you just accept my apology?”

“ _Apology?_ ” sneered Lust, and if he had been angry before, he was _incensed_ now, “What - what apology? You haven’t said the words ‘I’m sorry’ to me _once!_ ”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Pride wouldn’t say _i’m_ _sorry_ because he _couldn’t_ say _i’m sorry_ , not while truly meaning it. He was always saying shit he didn’t mean, everyone knew that, but this gift had been his attempt at being sincere. It was supposed to make things better, but instead things seemed to be getting worse, and Lust had said it himself - it meant nothing now, it didn’t matter, this whole thing was _pointless_. Pride could feel himself trembling with the unfairness of it all.

“Just,” Pride said, ashamed of how close to crying he sounded, “Get the fuck out of my room. And take that stupid painting with you.”

For a moment, it looked like Lust wanted to argue, brow furrowed and mouth half-open, but something in Pride’s face must have changed his mind. Instead, he shook his head and left, canvas held close to his chest despite its awkward and unwieldy size, not bothering to stop and close Pride’s bedroom door behind him. Pride slammed it shut as soon as Lust had left, venting all of his frustrations into the movement - the sound rang out into the emptiness of the hideout, no doubt alerting every other resident to the fight that had just occurred. The violence only soothed his anger for a second, before the rage was bubbling up inside his chest again, tight and wet and unbearable.

With a huff, Pride threw himself onto his bed, scrabbling to push his face into his pillow and scream. The scream quickly turned into a sob. And as he laid there, muffling his sobbing into his makeup stained pillowcase, all he could think about was how disappointing it was to cry such sincere-sounding tears when there was nobody around to hear them.

**xxx**

Pride spent the next few days moping alone in his room. It was imperative that everyone else on the team knew how miserable he was, that he be as physically isolated as he felt internally. He alternated between weeping loudly enough to be heard by anyone passing by his door in the hallway, shuffling pitifully into the kitchen to fetch himself any sweet treat he could find in the fridge, sleeping whenever he got too bored, and pacing the floor when he was bored but couldn’t sleep anymore. It wasn’t an enjoyable experience, but Pride still made sure to revel in it. Various members of the team had reached out to him during his excursions out of his bedroom, but he steadfastly turned them away, somehow determined to make the most of his misery. He needed this to last, needed it to mean something to someone other than himself, and if that meant locking himself away for weeks on end, so be it.

As fate would have it, however, only four days would pass before Pride was snapped out of his self-imposed exile from the rest of the team. He was curled up in his bed, scrolling through his Instagram feed without registering any of it, when the door swung open without so much as a knock.

With a curse, Pride hurriedly threw the sheets over his head to hide from the intruder. “Hey! Privacy!” he snapped, curling his knees as close to his chest as he could in an attempt to shrink and disappear from sight, “Ever heard of it?”

“Oh, I am not taking that shit from _you_ , of all people,” came the all-too-familiar voice of Wrath, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. There was a shuffling sound followed by a soft _click_ , as Wrath presumably shut the door behind her, “Now come on. Sit up. I’m here to talk shit out with you.”

“No,” Pride groaned into his comforter, refusing to budge even an inch despite Wrath prodding his shoulder with one hand, “ _No_ , I’m hideous right now, at least - let me put a new face of makeup on.”

A beat of silence. “Nah, not necessary,” Wrath said, and then the bed dipped beneath her added weight. Pride muffled another groan into the blanket he’d wrapped himself in, “You don’t have to sit up and look at me, we can talk like this.”

“...Fine,” Pride said, partly because he knew arguing with Wrath would be a lost cause, and partly because it really was starting to wear on him, not having anyone to vent to, “What do you want me to say.”

“I don’t want you to -,” Wrath began, but then cut herself off with a sigh. “Just - talk with me, okay? You’re gonna have to face Lust again sometime in the future.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Pride grumbled, flipping onto his back so he could stare up into the inky blackness of the blanket draped over his face, “He _hates_ me now.”

“He really doesn’t,” said Wrath; she must have sensed Pride’s disbelief, even without him saying anything, because she quickly hurried to continue, “Seriously, I’ve been talking to him. He’s - he’s confused, overwhelmed, a little annoyed, but he’s not - he doesn’t hate you, Pride.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know you don’t,” he heard Wrath heave a deep sigh, and felt something twist in his gut, something like regret, but not quite, “But I’m telling the truth. Honestly, he mostly just keeps asking me how it is you knew he liked Rothko.”

“He _told_ me!” Pride peeled the blanket back enough to reveal only his eyes, bloodshot and sore from his crying. When he glanced upwards at Wrath, she was staring back at him, clearly startled by his answer, “During that stupid gallery job with Envy, he was prattling on and on in my ear about abstract impressionism, and the process, and - and -,” overcome from frustration, he pressed his face back into his comforter with a moan, “Fuck, I’unno! You were sitting next to him the whole time, you know all this.”

“No,” Wrath said, and the sincere surprise in her voice made Pride pause, “No, I really didn’t… know he was talking that much about Rothko back then, I wasn’t paying attention. How did _you_ remember?”

“I remember listening to him talk and thinkin’ it was way more interesting than the shit I was lookin’ at,” answered Pride, surprised to find he truly meant it, “Plus it was kind of a fun game to see if I could talk to him through the security cameras just by nodding my head or waving my hands, so I jus’...”

Wrath waited until it was clear Pride had trailed off without any intention of continuing before she spoke, and somewhere in the back of his mind, in the part not yet overcome with grief and frustration, he was grateful. “That’s mad impressive, man,” she said; Pride squirmed underneath the covers at the praise and rolled back onto his side so he was facing away from her, “I think you have a way better memory than any of us give you credit for.”

On any other day, the compliment would have made Pride beam, would have lifted his spirits up from the gutters they had been stuck in almost all week. But in many ways, he didn’t want it to make him feel better, didn’t want this to be fixed by _Wrath_ , by anyone other than himself, so instead of expressing his gratitude, genuine or otherwise, he said, “I was listening to him. Greed told me to prove I was listening to him, and I - I _tried_ to, I really tried my best to make things better.”

“Well,” Wrath said with a hum, “Sometimes our best isn’t good enough, and that’s okay.”

“No, it’s fucking not!” Pride’s voice rose into a yell against his will; he kicked his legs against the mattress and dug his hands into his hair, feeling the familiar threat of tears burning hot against his eyes. Wrath couldn’t see him, his back to her and the comforter pulled high over his head, but he still took a moment to compose himself lest he risk crying in front of her, “It’s _not_ okay, are you kidding me? I wanted to fix things, I really did, but instead I made everything worse, I fucked everything up, I always -,”

Before another word could leave his mouth, Pride clenched his jaw shut, pulled his knees all the way up into his stomach and prayed Wrath wouldn’t say anything, would just get up and go and leave him to wallow in his pity. She didn’t speak, to Pride’s relief, but she didn’t leave either, and after enough time had passed in silence for Pride to feel confident he could speak again without saying too much, he said, “I don’t like. Failing, okay, I don’t want to put all of my effort into something for no reason. It’s infuriating.”

“I know,” replied Wrath, tone soft and sympathetic. It made Pride’s skin crawl. “That’s part of why I hired you in the first place, y’know. You might be unpredictable and loud, but you’re a perfectionist, a hard-worker when you want to be. It’s not a bad thing.”

Wrath obviously expected Pride to give some kind of response, though he wasn’t sure _what_ \- the tense silence dragged on for just a beat too long, and then she was speaking again, sounding suddenly amused, “Do you want to know what I think?”

If he screwed his eyes shut tight enough, Pride could just _imagine_ the fake smile Wrath was shooting his direction.

“No, I don’t.”

“I think -,” said Wrath, barely missing a beat. Pride let out a groan so loud she had to stop and try again, raising her volume to be heard over his fussing, “I think Lust is going to realize how heartfelt your gift was, once the shock has worn off, and then you two will make up, and things’ll be back to normal. Better than normal, even.”

The bed wobbled as Wrath stood, at long last. Pride heaved a noisy sigh of relief, just so Wrath would hear it and know he wanted her to hurry her exit up. There was a beat of silence, during which Pride thought he might be admonished for his bad attitude, and then: “How much longer are you gonna mope, anyways?”

“Forever,” Pride said, but he didn’t mean it. The shtick was already getting old, despite his best efforts. It would probably only be a few more days before the boredom won out over the martyrdom, and then he would be back on his feet, ideally acting like nothing had happened. For now, though, he was content to be melodramatic, to feel like this was going to be the rest of his life.

“Okay,” from the way she spoke, Pride could tell Wrath knew he was bluffing, too, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Typically, he would have doubled down, would have taken the disbelief as an insult, but right now all he wanted was a nap and some alone-time. There was a click - presumably the door being swung open by Wrath, who was taking the hint, thank _God_ \- and the sound of shuffling feet. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

And then she was gone, and Pride was on his own yet again.

**xxx**

It was Thursday afternoon when Lust and Pride finally had a conversation again. Pride was sitting in the communal hideout kitchen, having a toaster waffle covered in marshmallow fluff and a glass of fruit punch for brunch. The makeup on his face was freshly done, his hair neatly slicked back as usual - any physical reminders of his nearly-week-long meltdown had been cleanly wiped away. Anyone who tried to broach the topic to him was politely but firmly rebuked, which was to say he ignored them until they got the hint and left the issue alone.

It was as Pride was sitting and eating alone, feet kicked up onto the chair next to his own, that he saw Lust for the first time since their argument; he burst into the kitchen and then stuttered to a halt in the doorway, almost as if he had been shoved into the room against his will. His hands were tucked defensively in his pockets, and the way he was avoiding looking directly at Pride made it clear he was there specifically to speak to him.

Instead of walking directly to the table, Lust made a beeline to the fridge; after a moment of hesitation in front of its open door, he grabbed a bottle of lemon-lime soda, and then slowly puttered his way over to sit at the table, right across from Pride.

“Good morning, love,” said Pride, with what he hoped was a genuine smile but likely was not.

“It’s… one in the afternoon,” Lust said without any hint of judgement in his voice. It was a nice change of pace from the chorus of pitiful “ _how are you feeling today_ ”s he’d been receiving since leaving his room, and it made the smile on his face feel just a little bit more natural.

With an over-the-top shrug, Pride said, “It’s morning somewhere in Clearwater!”

“That’s…” Lust pursed his lips, “almost the right expression, I guess.” From over the rim of his glass, Pride grinned at Lust, who hesitantly returned it. There was an awkward pause as the two stared at each other, not hostile but also not fully comfortable; eventually, Lust sighed and said, “So. About the painting.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Pride as the smile slipped off his face. After a beat of silence where Lust looked like he wanted to speak, Pride added hastily, “Please. Don’t. If you - y’know, hated the gift, whatever-,”

“No, no, I didn’t hate it, it’s just.” Lust stopped to chewed on his lower lip in thought, “I talked to Envy. And xe told me that, giving a gift, that was your way of apologizing to xer, back when you two were pissed at each other.”

“Sure,” Pride wasn’t entirely convinced that he _had_ given anything to Envy, at least not anything substantial, aside from a light and some candy, but it was the most repentant thing he’d done in recent time, the only way he had been able to express his need to make things right without bruising his ego. He wasn’t going to admit any of that to Lust, though.

“And after that, I talked to _Wrath_ , and he let me know why you got me that painting, specifically, and,” with a sigh, Lust dragged both hands down the side of his face. The exasperation, clear as day, on his face made Pride’s hackles rise, “It’s still just so… I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“It _sounds_ like you hate my present.”

“I don’t!” Lust exclaimed, “I really don’t, I _love_ Rothko, you know that, but - _why_ , like, I just can’t figure out _why_ this is something you did. Something you thought you should, or needed, to do.”

“I thought it would make you happy,” Pride said, voice soft and sincere. A beat. “I _wanted_ it to make you happy.”

Lust sighed again, but it wasn’t as harsh as before. He refused to meet Pride’s eyes as he spoke, staring firmly at the table. “I know. I know that _now._ It’s just. It’s a lot, Pride, you know it’s a lot, don’t you?”

“Fine, it’s a lot, I get it,” Pride’s gaze fell to the plate in front of him as well, feeling suddenly defensive, “That was just to make the apology seem more real, though.”

“ _That’s_ what I don’t get, though, that’s-,” Lust stopped as his voice cracked, volume rising higher and higher against his will. He took a deep breath in through his nose for composure’s sake, and then started again in a deliberately flat tone, “Why couldn’t you have just _said_ you were sorry?”

“It’s so easy to say sorry and not mean it at all,” said Pride, still refusing to raise his gaze up to look at Lust, “I do it all the time!... I wanted this to be meaningful.”

“You-,” Lust stopped himself again; after several seconds went by without him speaking, Pride finally chanced a glance upwards to look at Lust, sitting with one arm folded on the tabletop, the other pressed into his chin to hold his head up in thought. The silence dragged on for nearly a full minute before Lust said, face unreadable, “You listened to me talk about Rothko.”

“Yeah,” Pride said. The look on Lust’s face softened, and with a quiet sigh he lowered both arms to the table, shoulders slumped with something like relief. Pride plowed on before Lust could interject, however; “You’re… weird. Different, I guess. It makes listening to you easier.”

“...Different in a good way?” asked Lust. Any hint of resentfulness or disbelief was gone from his voice, replaced by a genuine curiosity, one that put Pride at ease.

“Maybe? It’s not bad,” it was hard to put into words how he felt about Lust - Lust, who called the Seven Deadly Sins crew a family, who left his former job to _join_ that family, who always deferred to the other members and tried his best to make them happy, even when it made no logical sense. Lust was the antithesis of everything Pride knew to be true, naive in a way Pride hadn’t been since childhood, and sometimes that made being his friend difficult. Sometimes it hurt to be reminded of what he’d lost in growing up and realizing what family really meant, when Lust didn’t understand at all. “I don’t think it’s bad at least. You just say a lot of things I don’t understand.”

“Everyone says things you don’t understand,” Lust teased, “That can’t be what makes me different.”

Despite himself, Pride barked out a laugh. “Touché, Lust! Wow,” he huffed a sigh and leaned one cheek into his open palm, lips curled up into a smile, “I didn’t know you had it in you to be so playfully mean!”

“Guess we’re both full of surprises,” Lust said with his own wide smile, and at long last the tension in the air dissipated so that it wasn’t even awkward when Lust said, “So. The painting?”

“Right. D’ya still want me to return it?”

“N-no, that, that was a stupid idea, you were right about that,” Lust chuckled nervously, eyes darting away from Pride for a brief second, “I hung it up in my room. Sure, it means less without the context of the - the rest of the series, or the exhibition, but. I mean, fuck, I own a painting by _the_ Mark Rothko now, I’m not gonna give that up. Plus,” he paused, cheeks flushing slightly, “I can’t imagine it was easy to get.”

It wasn’t easy to get. In fact, Pride was now in debt to several people he’d much rather never speak to again - and maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he could weasel his way out of the deal he’d made - due to his impromptu heist. On any other day, he would have said as such, would have bragged about his selflessness in going through all this trouble to get something so _extravagant,_ but the quiet, slightly confused expression on Lust’s face made Pride falter instead.

“Yeah, it was tricky,” said Pride with a lackluster shrug, “But. Again. I really wanted this to _… mean_ something.”

It was the closest he was going to come to saying _i’m sorry_ outright; even saying this much made his chest feel tight with anxiety and shame. Lust’s face crumpled for a second, a terrifying second where Pride thought he might be rejected again, but then Lust sighed and smiled - though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It means a lot,” he said with a surprising amount of sincerity, “It really does.”

With that, he grabbed his bottle of soda, still relatively untouched, and stretched. “Next time you go out and steal a piece of art for one of the team, though,” he tilted his head to look Pride in the eyes, tone jovial yet again, “Come ask the resident expert for advice on what to take, okay?”

“Will do, doll,” Pride gave a mock salute, and Lust laughed - it had been a long time since Pride had heard Lust laugh, he didn’t know he would miss it, let alone this much. There was a beat as Lust began to prepare himself to leave, before Pride blurted out, “Hey - you’ll come to pool this weekend, right?”

Lust faltered for a second, clearly caught off-guard by the abrupt question - but he wasn’t silent long.

“Is that what this is about? Shit” he laughed, and took a swig of his drink. When he met Pride’s eyes, his whole face was lit up with a smile, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

It was the closest Lust was going to come to saying _you're forgiven,_ Pride could tell, but that fact did nothing to hinder his good mood. In fact, Pride couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, even as Lust left him alone in the kitchen - he felt better now that he had in weeks. Things were finally fixed, he’d finally made things better, and now he could finally move on from all the pain of the past month. He scarfed down the rest of his meal, suddenly motivated to go find the rest of the crew - the rest of his _friends_ \- and find something fun to do before the weekend came at long last.

(And when the weekend _did_ come, Pride wore the rose necklace he’d bought for Lust to the pizzeria the pool games were held at; upon seeing it, Lust cooed for a total of three minutes about how lovely it was, and Pride pulled out his cellphone to call up Greed just to say _i told you so._ )


End file.
